


climbing to the light

by sunflowerbright



Series: Hotel California [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbright/pseuds/sunflowerbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>'Just hang onto it. Whatever you do. Don't let go'</i>
</p><p> </p><p>or, the one where Grantaire is discharged from the hospital and there are talks of turtles and pole-dancing</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

  ** _1832_**

“I do believe you dropped this,” someone taps him on the shoulder, but it still takes Grantaire a few minutes to realize it’s him the other person is talking to.

He’s a bit distracted because they’re all dying today. He’s drinking himself into a stupor from an early start.

He turns around, only to be faced with the old man who had accompanied them to the Barricade, had joined the march, had said that he had nothing left but to die a death among people like them ( _students, schoolboys, youngsters. Rebels.)_ He’s holding out a pocket-watch, bronze and shining and new, and certainly not anything that belongs to Grantaire.

“No, that’s not…” he begins, but the man – Mabeuf, Mabeuf is his name, he remembers it now – has already pressed it into his hand and moved away from him.

“Just hang onto it,” Mabeuf tells him, looking over his shoulder. “Whatever you do. Don’t let go.”

Grantaire stands in surprise for a few moments, before Bossuet nearly bumps into him, demanding to know why he’s just standing there dawdling instead of _helping_ , and it all comes back to him.

Right. They’re all going to their glorious deaths in a manner of days or hours.

He goes to join them.

He could have sworn he had put the watch in his pocket, but later that evening, his Apollo asks for the time, and when he reaches for it, he cannot find it.

Grantaire drinks, and he forgets about it again. It wasn’t his. Whoever dropped it probably won’t miss it, seeing as said person will probably soon be dead. It wasn’t important.

He forgets.

 

*

 

**_A couple of hundred years later_ **

 

“I wish you would talk to me,” Jehan looks at the ghost, at Claudine, at _his mother,_ who only smiles at him, dimples like he remembers, eyelashes fluttering. She has her hands folded in her lap, and she’s sitting on the floor right across from him, looking for all the world like she belongs exactly where she is.

But Jehan knows that she doesn’t.

“Why couldn’t Courfeyrac see you, the other night?”

She tilts her head to the side, studying him.

“C’mon,” he mutters. “Talk to me.”

Claudine gets up from her place on the floor, walking over and sitting down next to him on the bed. She… she feels so real it’s scary, because she cannot be. She isn’t.

“I don’t show myself to your friends, because you can’t trust them,” she says. Jehan swallows heavily, feeling his throat tighten.

“They’re my friends,” he says. “Do you think I’m so naïve as to trust a.. a vague memory, over them?”

She lifts a hand to touch his cheek, and Jehan can almost feel her cold touch.

“I think you know when to listen to your mother,” she answers, and disappears, just as the door opens and Courfeyrac enters.

“Hey, are you alright?” he rushes over to Jehan, kneeling on the floor next to him and taking his hands between his. “You’re all pale and shaking… shit, is it the nightmares again? Where you trying to get some sleep?”

Jehan stares down at him for a moment, but then ends up pulling him up to him in the bed, the both of them lying back on it, Courfeyrac’s arm around his waist, his hand gently nudging under his shirt to splay over his bare stomach.

“’M fine,” Jehan mutters against Courfeyrac’s collarbone, ignoring the fact that his heart is beating too fast in…

In fear. He’ll admit to that. He’s afraid.

“I worry about you,” Courfeyrac says. “You’re… distracted.”

“I’m worried about Grantaire,” that’s at least half of the truth: he does worry about Grantaire, and Enjolras, and Grantaire and Enjolras, which should just in general be a term that goes together from now on. Or at least, he hopes it’s a general term that they can use in the future. “I know he’ll be alright now, I just… I wish he could remember.”

“I wish he could remember too. We had some fun times back then,” Courfeyrac presses closer. “But it’s not your burden to bear, Jehan.”

“I know.”

“So please don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I won’t.”

“Worrying will not help Grantaire.”

“I know.”

“So don’t do it.”

“I won’t.”

He can actually hear Courfeyrac’s smile. “You’re too eager to please, because I know for a fact that you’re still worrying.”

“Oh, I can’t help it. I worry about you too.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” It’s Jehan who nuzzles closer now, burying his face in the other man’s neck. “I worry that you don’t have enough kissing in your life.”

Courfeyrac laughs. “You worry that _I_ don’t have _enough kissing_ in my life?”

“Almost constantly.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s really not an issue. Especially now.”

“Oh, really? You have someone willing to kiss you, then?”

“You mean to say that I don’t?”

Jehan peeks up at him. “That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on whether or not you’ll be making tea for me anytime soon.”

“That is blackmail.”

“Accurate.”

Courfeyrac kisses the top of his head. “You’re evil.”

“Also accurate. Now, tea?”

“And then kisses?”

Jehan leans up and presses his mouth to Courfeyrac’s, pulling away before the other man can deepen it. “Kisses now, and maybe later if the tea is good.”

“I make amazing tea,” Courfeyrac grumbles, before practically leaping out of the bed.

Jehan laughs and follows, only faltering for a short moment as he sees a glimpse of a white dress and playful eyes.

Claudine smiles at him. He ignores her. As much as he can.

 

*

Enjolras stops by the next day just like promised, a sketch-pad and pencils with him.

“Thought you might get bored,” he says as way of explaining when he hands them to Grantaire. “Your nurse said you’re able to stay awake for longer now, so I figured you might want something else than cartoons to pass the time with.”

“Well, much as I enjoy getting to the twenty-fifth episode of _Kim Possible_ in a day, this is really appreciated,” he gripes: their fingers brush when he takes the offered gifts, and it makes his heart jump.

“Did you… yesterday, I mean…. Um…”

Enjolras quirks an eyebrow. “Matchbox?”

Okay, that is not a word to usually make him feel _giddy_ of all things, but that is exactly what it does now. “Did you want it back?” he asks, not able to stop a giant smile from forming.

“Nah, hang onto it,” Enjolras shrugs and sits down at the same chair he had occupied yesterday. Grantaire starts fiddling with the sketch-pad, not quite sure what to do with his hands.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, yeah, much better. My brain isn’t filled with cotton-candy anymore, so that’s a huge improvement. And it doesn’t hurt when I breathe anymore. If I’m nice, they might be letting me out tomorrow or the day after.”

Enjolras frowns at that. “You were shot. They’re still hunting down the man who did it. And you want to go home?”

“Well, if I stay away from work for much longer, they are going to fire me,” Grantaire says. “I know I’m not completely mobile yet, but I can do some things.”

“You don’t have to worry about work. We’ve covered all your shifts between us,” Enjolras says as if that’s the most normal thing in the world, and why the hell shouldn’t it be, friends watching out for each other like that?

Grantaire currently has a lump in his throat that he can’t speak around even if he tried, and if he was still bone-dead tired and high on medication, he just knows his eyes would be welling up right now.

Oh fuck it, this is stupid.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

Enjolras shifts, a little uncomfortable, but then he looks up at him with soft eyes, and Grantaire really never knew what he was missing before Enjolras started looking at him like that. “Anytime,” is all he says. “Just… don’t worry about it, and don’t rush it. Need I repeat: you were shot.”

“Yeah, people keep making a fuss about that,” Grantaire grins at him again. “Change of subject? What have I missed while trapped in this hell-hole?”

“Ha, I’m sure Courfeyrac would be better with all the gossip than me.”

“He’s been bombarding me with texts about the weather and ignoring any of my questions on his and Jehan’s sex-life. I need entertainment – you must have something to tell.”

Enjolras looks deep in thought. Grantaire frowns.

“Don’t hurt yourself now.”

“Combeferre’s got a girlfriend.”

“He _what_?”

“Her name’s Tilly,” Enjolras makes a face that makes Grantaire burst out laughing, shaking and actually crying a little bit.

“Oh my god you can’t do that - _ow this really hurts!”_ his ribs are aching under the strain, but he really can’t stop laughing.

“Easy,” Enjolras has put a hand on his shoulder as if to restrain him or calm him down or both, Grantaire wheezing for air after the movement.

“ _Your face…”_

“At least he isn’t as ridiculous about it all as Marius was,” Enjolras grumbles, and the mention of… of _that_ , their former lives, are enough to get Grantaire to calm a little more down, though he’s still smiling, not able to help it.

“But a girlfriend, really?”

“It’s very new, not that serious yet,” Enjolras leans back in his chair again. “Eponine knows her, but she seems… kind of displeased. I don’t think she likes her, very much.

“Is this the part where I offer to gather intel on this mysterious woman? I’m chained to a bed anyways, I can do nothing but research.”

Enjolras tilts his head to the side. “Would you be adverse to that? If I chained you to the bed? Sexually, I mean.”

Grantaire chokes on air.

“ _What…”_

“Sorry, that is probably moving too fast.”

“You’re not even blushing!”

“I have nerves of steel.”

He needs air. “I’m… I’m still… okay. Yeah. No. Chaining. Good. Fun. I’m… weren’t we talking about Combeferre?”

“I have to admit, I’m not really the sharing type, but if you want…”

 _“ENJOLRAS!”_ Grantaire shrieks, probably loud enough to wake up some coma-patient on the fifth floor. “You can’t… you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you, you fucker? Are you having me on?”

Enjolras shrugs. “A little bit,” he admits. “But I don’t see why we can’t talk about this.”

“With dating you usually start with talking about things other than kinky stuff to do in bed,” Grantaire can feel himself blushing, and for god’s sake, sex isn’t something to usually make him blush, sex is fun and fine to have, only Enjolras’ may be joking but his eyes has gone a few shades darker, and _fuck._

“Then  
let’s do that instead,” Enjolras runs a hand through his hair, and _that’s_ giving Grantaire inappropriate thoughts as well because _hnnngh_. “Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know, and I’ll tell you something about me that you don’t know.”

 _Heart calm down_ , he can deal with this. He can. He’s talked to Enjolras a million times before.

Usually he was just drunk. Last time he was high on meds. Grantaire has no such advantage now.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he ends up asking instead, and _fuck it Grantaire, don’t make him backtrack, what are you doing??_

“I am,” Enjolras says, his hand making a motion as if he wants to reach out for him, but then decides not to. Grantaire… doesn’t know what to think about that. Whether he’s glad or disappointed.

“I was talking about the tying me up,” he can’t help it, it is _so_ his turn to tease.

Which completely backfires, because apart from looking surprised that he has brought it up again, Enjolras hardly even reacts.

“Good.”

“ _Good?_ Fuck’s sake, I thought you were a virgin!”

“Why in the world should that stop me?”

“Oh, it really shouldn’t, I’m definitely… I mean, I’m _really_ not saying that. Like, really not, because that would put a stop to a lot of things that we could be doing… but that we shouldn’t be doing! Not yet! I… I mean… I don’t think…” he forces himself to stop and calm a little more down before continuing. “You know, a good basis for our new relationship could be that you stop me whenever I go off on a tangent like this.”

“Grantaire, stop talking,” see this is why he loves Enjolras. Sometimes, the man really just gets him.

“Thank-you,” he says. “I once worked in a circus.”

“You… oh,” Enjolras moves closer, intrigued. “See, I didn’t know that. When was this?”

“The year before I met you. It was just for the summer, but they needed some help with janitorial work, and then one of their artists got sick and I’d… well, I used to crawl and jump around roof-tops a lot, growing up, so I helped out. Almost dropped poor Carmilla a few times, but I got the hang of it in the end.”

“Why have I never heard of this before?”

Grantaire bites his lips. “It hasn’t really come up in conversation much.” Nor will it, hopefully. It had just been all he could think of, right now. “Your turn.”

“I had a pet-turtle when I was a kid.”

“Oh, that’s a lie,” Grantaire insists.

“Its name was Robespierre.”

“… Okay, now I believe you.”

“He died because I overfed him.”

Grantaire laughs again, wincing in pain as his wound protests again, but it is so worth it. “You…”

“My parents never allowed me another pet again.”

“Of course they didn’t,” he deadpans, but then looks at Enjolras, intrigued: he’s never actually spoken much about his parents before. “Where they very strict?”

“They still are. They disowned me when I told them I was gay last year.”

Grantaire gapes at him. “Oh. I didn’t… I’m sorry?”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I kind of feel like it is?”

“What because I want to tie you to the bed? There could be spanking too,” where the hell had Enjolras learned how to grin exactly like the Cheshire cat from _Alice in Wonderland??_

“You’re going to be the death of me!”

His smile falls away at that. “Don’t say that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s your turn,” Enjolras mumbles, and Grantaire rakes his brain for something to say, something not-sad and distracting.

“I’ve got a tattoo,” he finally settles on. “I never mention it to people, but yeah. It’s, ah, a Celtic griffin, on my shoulder blade. I got it when I was sixteen. I’d show it to you, but I can’t move enough, I don’t think, and we’re not at stripping yet.”

“Should I put actual stripping on my list?”

Fuck it all, he’s blushing again. “Are you making a list over this as well?”

“Pole-dancing is already on it.”

Grantaire ends up laughing so much the nurse comes in to scold them both, shooting Enjolras angry looks and asking him to please not aggravate the patient.

“I’m not doing anything,” Enjolras protests, turning his blinding smile on her, and suddenly she’s all flustered and muttering apologies for interrupting, and Grantaire is the one doing the glaring instead.

“You look like you’ve just bit into a lemon,” Enjolras comments when the nurse (finally) leaves.

“Shut up.”

He’s let go of the sketch-pad, hand lying by his side, and Enjolras takes that as an excuse to grab hold of it like he did last night, his eyes lighting up all eager _(Grantaire thinks it’s only his wounds that’s stopping him from leaping over the bed and clutching at Enjolras really tightly, to make sure he doesn’t leave again)_ , as if he’s been _waiting_ to do this, has been wanting it ever since he walked into the room and sat down.

“Was it your own design?”

“What?” Grantaire asks, confused.

“The tattoo, did you draw the design yourself?”

“Oh… yeah. I did.”

“Apart from the work you’ve done for the group, I’ve never actually seen any of what you do.”

Enjolras forefinger is running up and down Grantaire’s palm now. It is very distracting.

“I don’t actually show it to other people. Besides Eponine. And uhm, Cosette saw it.”

“Cosette?” oh, Enjolras looks petulant. That is definitely a cute look on him. Also, funny.

“Yeah, when I painted her.”

“You painted her?”

“When we first met,” Grantaire casts his eyes to the ceiling, as if dreaming himself away to some far-off world. “Ah, yes, I was simply struck when I first met her. I could almost understand Marius, I mean, she really is beautiful, absolutely exquisite, like a creature from a fairy-tale, it was a privilege, really, to get to paint her… you’re sort of hurting my hand now.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras immediately lets go, but Grantaire, surprised by his own boldness, grasps his hand again. “That wasn’t on purpose, I was just…”

“Jealous?” he wants it to come out teasing, but really, he ends up just sounding hopeful, and _ohgod,_ how pathetic is that? That he’s seeking for scraps like this, prodding and side-stepping instead of just asking what he really wants to know.

He’s not brave enough for that, and he is still not completely convinced that all of this isn’t just some fantasy. Maybe he’s in a coma. He was shot. Maybe this isn’t real, at all.

Enjolras is stroking his hand again. It _feels_ real. So very real.

“It’s kind of new,” the revolutionary beside him admits. “I’m not used to… I never had to share your attention before, and now when I possibly have more of it than I ever did, I get prickly when you just mention someone else. I’ve been wondering who Carmilla is for the last five minutes, but I didn’t want to ask, because I do know _some_ things about being too clingy.”

Grantaire laughs, surprised. “She was just an artist, a performer at the circus. She was nice, and we may have had a roll in the metaphorical hay… actually, not that metaphorical, it was a circus with animals after all… but it didn’t mean anything. Okay, no, obviously it meant something, we had fun but she wasn’t… none of the others, they… um… they weren’t you.” He looks down now, at their hands: they fit, he thinks. It’s odd, but they do. He had never imagined that they really would.

Enjolras is still holding onto his hand, but he’s moving up and sitting down at the edge of the bed, so close Grantaire would have to draw them with their lines blurring into each other, Enjolras leg touching the blanket covering Grantaire’s, and they get even more so when Enjolras leans forward and…

Grantaire’s eyes close shut as if on command, and there is the softest press of lips against his: he’s not breathing, waiting, letting Enjolras lead and figure this out, but then Enjolras pulls away slightly and whispers, _“show me,”_ and Grantaire moans low in his throat and reaches up his free hand to pull Enjolras’ head down to him, mouths meeting again, and he’s breathless already and possibly tripping on happiness by the time Enjolras pulls away slightly from the kiss, letting them both breathe again. Grantaire wonders if he’s kissed anyone before, because if not, Enjolras is a really fast learner; but then he gets distracted from the train of thought by Enjolras nibbling at his lower-lip, as if asking for permission to go again, and Grantaire groans and then Enjolras pulls away, properly pulls away, sitting back down on the chair and, lips red from kissing aside, looks completely unruffled.

“You…”

“I really wanted to try that,” Enjolras gives his hand a squeeze, and Grantaire thinks people usually do the weather-forecast in that tone of voice.

“ _Oh my god.”_

He looks slightly worried. “Was that okay?”

“You… I’m… _‘was that okay?’_ he asks as if… as if you didn’t just kiss me and…”

Enjolras grin is verging on smug, but is also so proud that it makes Grantaire’s heart skip a beat. “Match-box?”

“If I ever lose that sucker, I swear, I’m going to think I’m part of _Inception_ or something. It’s become my anchor now: it’s better than pinching.”

“Good,” Enjolras is back to looking a bit more morose now. “I want you to know that this is real.”

“I don’t think I could actually imagine you ever kissing me quite as well as that. Actually, I _know_ I couldn’t, because boy, have I fantasized a lot about… this is where we agreed you would stop me.”

Enjolras eyes have gone darker again. “Maybe I want to hear more.”

“You don’t.”

“I really think I do.”

“This is very embarrassing.”

“Fine, I’ll start then,” Enjolras says and leans slightly forward, lowering his voice just so. “Do you want to hear about when I imagined having you on the table at the café, or last night when I went home and wondered what it would have been like had I just jumped you here?”

“ _Jesus Christ!”_

“Or,” he’s holding on really tightly to Grantaire’s hand now, but not enough to hurt. “Would you rather hear about how I’d sit and stare at that stupid picture, the one with you and Bahorel’s stupid teddy-bear that you took on my phone, during those weeks you were gone, and wish you were there with me and not god-knows-where? Or how I have never hated myself as much as when I thought the last conversation we were ever going to have was the one outside the shop? Or how I wasn’t able to sleep until they told me you’d woken up after the operation? I could tell you how much serious will-power it took to end our kiss just now, but I don’t think you’d be much impressed by that.”

Grantaire wants to hide, but Enjolras is keeping eye-contact, and he can’t look away. He… he doesn’t know what to say. He’s…

He’s not actually sure it’s possible to be this happy, and he’s busy silencing the voice in the back of his head whispering that this won’t last, that he’s being made fun of, that Enjolras would never stoop so low as to be with the likes of him, but he can still feel just the faintest ghost of Enjolras’ lips on his, and he ends up smiling instead.

“The café-table, really?”

“The table, the counter, the alley out back.”

“Has it gotten really hot in here? It might be my medication, I think I’ve over-dosed.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“But you like me,” Grantaire says, his mouth dry and yeah, he knows he’s the one clutching Enjolras’ hand now, and it must hurt because he might be digging in his finger-nails as well, but the other man hardly reacts to it.

“Very much. Also, visiting hours are over.”

“They can’t be over already.”

“I actually charmed the nurse into letting me stay for an extra hour.”

“Oh,” Grantaire narrows his eyes. “Which nurse?”

“You’re adorable.”

“No, seriously, which nurse? I need to hunt down competition – it’s not like I have anything else to do stuck here for at least one more day.”

Enjolras gets up and, just like yesterday, kisses Grantaire on the temple, lingering a bit longer this time.

“There is no competition,” he says, and shit, gooey romantic shit like that should not be making Grantaire swoon like a Disney-princess.

He’s seriously swooning like a Disney-princess right now.

A nurse comes in to give him his meds, and it’s thank-fully not the same one that was all over Enjolras earlier, because Grantaire may have had to stick out his tongue at her: this one has straight black hair and smiles cutely at him when he asks for a Pepsi.

“Nope, can’t do right now, sorry,” she says. “Did you have fun with your boyfriend?”

Oh, shit, _why is he blushing so much lately?_ “He’s not my boyfriend.”

The nurse raises an eyebrow. “He is _so_ your boyfriend.”

“Are you twelve?”

She laughs, fluffing his pillows, which okay, nice. She gets brownie points for that.

“There was someone here to see you earlier, but I sent them away. She hadn’t been here before with the others, you know, that horde of students that were basically camping out while you were in surgery?”

Okay, no, his heart is not swelling up at the thought of almost all of them staking out just for him.

“Yeah?”

“She said she wanted to see you, said something about apologizing, but I said you were with the blonde, passionate guy, and she winked at me suggestively and said she didn’t want to interrupt then.”

Grantaire frowns. Eponine? Nah, she would have just barged in. Also, she’d been there earlier, with Feuilly. “What was her name?

“Fantine, I think she said,” the nurse moves to the door to leave. “Do you know her?”

“No, I’ve never heard…” Wait.

Oh.

_Oh._

*

 

Contrary to Joly’s prediction that the hospital won’t under any circumstances let the safety hazard that is Grantaire leave, he does get to do exactly that, in the late afternoon of the next day. There’s a crowd of them all waiting in his flat, a huge banner saying _‘Glad You’re Not Dead!’_ in what suspiciously looks like Courfeyrac’s writing, but there’s also cake and Feuilly seems to have shaped all the napkins into small frogs, so Grantaire can overlook the weird banner (though he does notice Enjolras glaring at Courfeyrac, the other man merely shrugging and sending him a suggestive wink. He’s also sure he doesn’t imagine Enjolras blushing slightly. Oh, Heavens, thank-you, it is such a cute look on him.)

Cosette is oddly quiet throughout most of it, just like she had been during the hospital-visits, but it isn’t until Combeferre, in privacy, points out to him that she probably feels guilty, that he gets why. He gives her a hug before she leaves, not really knowing what to say to take that away from her, even when he doesn’t blame her.

Grantaire knows about feeling guilty, and he knows it isn’t rational.

The quick, almost harsh glance Enjolras sends her when she leaves is… surprising, though. No-one else seems to react to it however, and Grantaire’s brain is still too muddled from medicine to make an actual effort into deciphering what the hell is going on.

The other’s stay long enough to eat all of the cake, before Grantaire’s head starts nodding, his eyes involuntarily slipping shut from exhaustion: he somehow ends up on the sofa instead of in his kitchen, the others cleaning up the mess they left behind in record time, before all leaving, even the ones who actually live here.

Which, what the… oh.

Okay, so Enjolras didn’t leave. In fact, they’re all alone in the flat now, sitting on the damn sofa pressed flush against each other with Grantaire’s sleepy head resting on the other man’s shoulder, some program about polar bears flickering across the TV. Enjolras moves his head slightly, lips brushing Grantaire’s curls.

“You okay?”

Okay? Okay?? _Okay???_

“I’m good,” he manages to croak out. _OKAY??_ Enjolras hand is resting on his knee. He is so not okay. Fantastic could describe it, maybe. “Is this our… um… the thing that wasn’t a date?”

“If you want it to be.”

“I’m very relaxed right now, and not on the verge of panicking, so it could be?”

“Do you want some sleep?”

Oh, yes, he was pretty tired.

“No, I’m fine here,” he insists.

Enjolras chuckles. “Are you sure? Because we could move a bit. You could be more comfortable.”

“I can’t imagine how, I’m _really_ comfortable right now.” Despite his protests, Enjolras somehow manages to shift him until they’re both lying down on the couch, Enjolras’ back against the armrest, and Grantaire’s against Enjolras’ chest: it is, just as Enjolras had predicted, much more comfortable, and keeps the pressure off of his bandaged wound.

“Told you so,” said man mumbles in his ear, one hand reaching up to smooth back Grantaire’s curls. “Tell me if you need anything.”

It takes a while for him to answer: not because he’s wondering what he wants, he knows exactly what it is, but because…

“Just don’t go anywhere,” he finally says. He wonders when he will stop being scared about Enjolras responses whenever he admits things like this.

The other man’s tightens his arm slightly where it’s already wrapped around Grantaire, just above his wound, the other hand still playing with his curls.

“’M I heavy??”

Enjolras chuckles. “No.”

“Say if I am.”

“You’re not.”

Grantaire can feel the fogginess of sleep settling in, but he doesn’t want it to, he wants to stay awake and enjoy this moment, savour every last bit of it.

“I’ve seen him before,” he says the first thing to come into his head.

“What?”

“The man who shot me,” he mumbles, and can immediately feel Enjolras tense beneath him. “I’ve seen him before. He used to be a cop: he’d come to the Thénardier’s, doing drug-busts. I saw him at least twice when I was little. And he was the cop that was all up in my business, saying he recognized me from somewhere, the day I met Bahorel. ‘Met you the day after. That was a good day.”

Enjolras shifts slightly under him. “What was it you mentioned he said before he shot you?”

“I didn’t say anything about it.”

“Ah, no that was Cosette.”

Grantaire feels a little more awake now: there’s an ache now, in his wound, that wasn’t there before. It’s not for lack of medication. It’s something else.

“You talked to Cosette about it?” Grantaire doesn’t mean to snap, but he feels vulnerable, suddenly. He wonders what Cosette said.

“We all did, we wanted to know what had happened,” Enjolras sounds kind of angry now, and Grantaire cringes.

“Sorry, that was… sorry. I didn’t think.”

Enjolras lets out a short breath. “It’s okay. She said it seemed as if the officer recognized you.”

“Yeah, he probably did, I mean, he was acting all crazy in the bar three years ago…”

“She also said that she recognized him.”

“What?!”

“She said it was the Inspector who had been hunting down her father in our former lives.”

Okay, _no._

“Oh, fuck. What, you think he remembered?”

“His name is Javert. He was a spy at the Barricade.”

“A _spy?_ What, did we all just magically know each other back then?” he’s definitely awake now, at least enough to know that he doesn’t want this conversation, fuck it all.

“Grantaire, relax,” Enjolras practically orders, and okay, hot, but also a little bit annoying right now, because Grantaire got shot and he will not be treated like a child.

“He won’t hurt you again,” Enjolras says then, with such conviction that for just a moment, Grantaire actually believes it, even if the man doesn’t hold that kind of power. Enjolras doesn’t control the universe, unfortunately.

It still makes pleasant tingles dance along his spine.

“Are you going to start being as protective as Cosette’s dad?” he teases, though honestly, he would like to know, because if Enjolras is going to lock him in his flat from here on out, they are going to have to have words. Sexual bribes may go some way, but fresh air can also be nice at times.

“He was actually at the Barricade as well,” Enjolras says, neatly side-stepping the actual question.

“ _What?_ Jesus Christ. I’m starting to think it was all just one big rave instead of an actual attempted revolution. Was everyone except Cosette there?”

“As far as I know.”

“She must love that. Well, everyone except Cosette and me where there,” Grantaire suddenly realizes. He’d been passed out drunk for the fighting, he didn’t really count as present.

Enjolras tenses again, and then buries his face in Grantaire’s hair. “You were there,” he mumbles. “You… you’d just realized we were all going to die, so you weren’t in the best of moods.”

Grantaire frowns at his tone of voice. “I must’ve been a delight to be around.”

“You were about as annoying as you are now.”

“Hey!”

Enjolras laugh, but it lacks actual warmth. “I’m… I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did. It’s okay, I am annoying. You’re annoying. Marius is annoying. I can still see Courf’s banner from here, he’s very annoying as well. Just because we’re… _this_ now, doesn’t mean you have to watch every word you say to me.”

“I am trying to be less… callous with my words, when directed towards you. I don’t mean to wreck damage, but it seems I always do.”

His eyes snap open. “Yes, poor broken Grantaire.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Enjolras says sharply. “Of course you get hurt when I say things like… what I said to you those other times: I’d get hurt if anyone I cared about said them to me. It’s normal. Getting hurt doesn’t make you worth less, Grantaire.”

Grantaire shifts a little, really wishing he was able to just get up and walk away, but he can’t without assistance, and he is not about to ask for help right now. Enjolras arm around him tightens, the other coming down to join as well, effectively trapping him.

“And what exactly am I worth to you?” he hisses. “What are you even getting out of this?”

“You’re being petulant,” fuck Enjolras for sounding so calm.

“You’re really not being fair. I love you,” that’s still scary to say, but at this Enjolras doesn’t actually tense up: if anything, he pulls him a bit closer. “You can at least tell me why you’re suddenly…”

“Are you trying to haul some kind of answer out of me?” Enjolras sounds angry again now. “Because we’ve been down this road before, haven’t we? I don’t recall you taking too kindly to me forcing you to admit to something!”

“No, of course I fucking didn’t…”

“Grantaire, you need to calm down. You’re injured. Sit fucking still!”

Okay, so he made Enjolras swear. Does he get points for that? Probably not. He ends up doing as he’s told, sitting still and trying to crawl through the storm of different emotions raging inside of him. Hurt _(why did you have to bring that up again)_ Anger _(just fucking answer me)_ Guilt _(I’m acting pushy and forceful_ ) and… and…

“Sorry. You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to.”

“Thank-you.”

“You’re right, that wasn’t okay.”

“No, but at least we’ve talked it over instead of just shouting and walking away.”

Grantaire can’t help but snort. “Oh yes, this is wonderful progress. I should always be injured and unable to storm out when we have arguments.”

Enjolras places a kiss just behind his ear. “I don’t think I’d like that. The not-storming-out is great, but I would despair if I could only make you stay because you were too physically hurt to move.”

“Oh, there are other ways. You have promised to chain me up, remember?”

“That’s right, I forgot.”

“You better not!”

Enjolras laughs. “If it’s reassurance you want, let me say now that I’m not just going to leave. I meant it when I said I want us to be friends, and I don’t…” he stutters over the last few words, stopping himself with a sigh. Grantaire listens with rapt attention, his heart jumping up and down furiously.

“I don’t think… I remember how I felt, watching… I saw them all die, did you know that? At the Barricade. Every single one of our friends. I was the last one to go. And before that, I saw them all die: I even thought Marius was dead, at the time. And I was scared, but I was also… we knew this might happen. We didn’t want to die, and we may not have fully realized… but we were aware. We walked in with our eyes open. I always thought… you told me once, back then, that I didn’t even want to survive the Revolution, but that wasn’t true. I did want to survive, I just didn’t expect to. I thought… I would die for the cause, and someone else would pick up the mantle, someone like Combeferre whose… who has those certain qualities that I lack. He’d be better at leading in peaceful times than me, I think. So I didn’t… I was prepared to die. I was still scared, but the terror was nothing compared to…” his breath hitches slightly, but he continues on. “Watching them all die. It was so much worse than I had ever thought it was, than I could ever imagine. I thought I’d never feel like that again, but then Eponine got a call from the hospital, and I’ve… I saw her die, back then, as well, and she was crying in Marius’ arms, but she was sobbing here, on this sofa just a few days ago, and all I could get out of her was that you were at the hospital and she didn’t think you’d make it.”

Grantaire swallows heavily. “And you…”

“Don’t _ever_ do that to me again.”

He has to close his eyes, even though he cannot even see Enjolras from here. “Can’t really promise that, but I will try.”

They sit in silence for a little while, until Grantaire’s heart stops galloping and Enjolras’ breathing evens out a little bit more.

“Can I ask you a question?” Grantaire’s voice is quiet, but he doesn’t want to… break anything. They’ve reached a truce immediately after an argument, which frankly deserves a medal, and Enjolras has just opened up to him in a way that he never thought he’d get, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating, seeing their fearless leader so full of fear.

“Yes.”

He swallows heavily. “What changed your mind? About… about me, I mean.”

Enjolras nose nuzzles at his hair as he answers. “I already told you I missed you. When you were gone. I had a… before I realized that you were in love with me, I didn’t even think you liked me very much. But you were… Grantaire, you were always wanted around. No, okay, that’s not true, sometimes you were a little bit unwanted, when you were particularly drunk or were shouting about the hardiness of Capitalism, and I knew you were just doing it to rile me up, but I never… so when you just stayed away for so long, and I knew it was because of me that you were staying away, I just… I had a lot of revelations, I think, about who you really were, and I kind of… I was so happy when you got back, Grantaire. When I remembered…” he stops himself abruptly, mumbling something incoherently that Grantaire can’t hear, even with him so close.

“What did happen, when you remembered?” he asks softly. Because he’s scared, but he wants to know this. Anything to make Enjolras keep talking like this, to him, intimately and quietly, as if he wants to tell him this, even though he hesitates.

“I remembered how I died,” Enjolras suddenly says. “And… are you sure you want to hear this?”

“No. But tell me anyway.”

“Not if you don’t… I’m… I don’t know what to…”

“You should know that this is really weird,” Grantaire says. “You’re fumbling for words and all insecure around me, which is a bit cute but also very scary and you really don’t have to, because the last thing I am going to do is judge you.”

Enjolras lets out a huff. “Sometimes I almost wish you would. I think it’s my fault, that we’re back like this. As if it’s… it’s punishment, for getting all of my friends killed. I’m back now, and I remember, so I can realize…”

“That is the worst kind of bullshit I have ever heard. I think I’d rather you go back to insulting me again.”

“You…!” Enjolras sounds shocked. Good.

“The world really doesn’t revolve around you, Enjolras. We might be back for some kind of reason, or it might just be one big cosmic joke, but either way, it’s not all your fault. And if this is some kind of torture for you, it really lacks imagination. Because we’re all here, and we’re all still supporting you, and we’re not all about to die for a cause right now. Which, I’d like to point out, is what they all died for back then. The cause, not just you. We’re happy and safe… or, okay, safe-ish. So if this is punishment, I could really imagine worse, and you need to stop thinking of it like it is. Because if you do, that means that you… that you’re here now, with me, because you feel guilty, and not because you actually want to. And if that’s the case, then I want you to leave.”

Oh _god_ , what did he just say? He really, really hopes Enjolras doesn’t leave, but he also knows that he needs him to, if… if that’s the truth of it.

The seconds tick by, and he’s getting a headache and heartache, all wrapped neatly in one. Fuck it all.

“Enjolras?”

“I’m with you because I want to. Because I want you.”

“That’s really good to know.” He wonders if you can do a victory-dance so shortly after having been shot. Joly probably wouldn’t recommend it.

“Can I stay the night?”

Oh, wow. Enjolras needs to stop saying things that makes his brain short-circuit like this.

“Ummm….”

“Just sleeping,” he mumbles, and is that a _smirk_ he can hear in the other man’s voice? “You need supervision anyway, and I believe Eponine is crashing at Jehan’s place. I… I don’t know where Azelma went to, but Gav is with Courf.”

“He always is these days.”

“They were very close, back in the day.”

“You say ‘back in the day’, and I know you _really_ mean ‘back in the day’.”

“Answer my question please,” okay, Enjolras pleading with that voice, like a child begging for candy is really, really…

“You can stay,” play it cool, Grantaire. “As long as you don’t snore.” _I don’t care if you hog all the covers and kick me in your sleep. You can stay forever either way._

“I’m fairly certain I don’t snore. I’ve had no complaints from roommates. Though if I have vivid dreams, I do tend to shout.”

“Of course you do, I’m not even surprised. You probably have debates with Voltaire while you sleep, and poor Courfeyrac has to listen to just one end of the conversation, wondering why the hell you’re yelling about the rights of turtles.”

“You _had_ to mention turtles!”

“I’m just horrified that you killed it.”

“It was an accident!”

“Of course.”

“It was.”

“At least you didn’t shoot it. That’s just mean. Someone should tell Javert that.”

“Stop talking about that,” Enjolras mutters.

Grantaire blinks. “About me getting shot? I’m fine, Enjolras.”

“You might not have been.”

“I’m… kinda glad that you’re so worried?”

“That’s mean.” He sounds like a five-year old. Grantaire kind of loves it.

“I’m not even sorry,” he teases. “At least you’re…” Oh. Fuck. Stop talking!

“At least I’m what?”

“Nothing.”

Enjolras pokes him in the chest. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Never.”

“You’ll get a kiss.

No, he won’t. Not if he tells.

“I am _really_ curious now.”

“Please just drop it,” Grantaire pleads, and fuck, how did he go from having the upper-hand in this teasing-escapade to _fucking this?_

“I’ll guess then: _‘at least I’m drop-dead gorgeous?’_ Nah, true, but it doesn’t fit. Oh, ‘ _at least I’m charming as all hell’?”_

“Enjolras…”

“Or is it, and correct me if I’m wrong, _‘at least I’m paying attention to you?’”_

Grantaire knows the way he tenses up is answer enough for Enjolras.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

And then he’s kissing Grantaire’s neck.

“I can pay more positive attention to you, if you want,” he mumbles against his skin, teeth slightly grazing over the spot he’s just kissed, and Grantaire’s eyes flutter shut. “I could do this… or this… and I could tell you that I’m getting kind of numb sitting this way, but the last thing I want is to move. Oh, and I could do this,” he bites down, just a little hard, on the point where Grantaire’s neck meets his shoulder, and he almost jumps in surprise at the thrills that shoots through his body. “And,” Enjolras continues, moving upwards again. “I could tell you that you look lovely, even after just getting out of the hospital, and that I’m glad you’re letting me stay. And that I know you’re worried about all of this, but that you don’t have to be, because I don’t ever want to let you go.”

“You’re an asshole,” Grantaire lets slip. “You can’t do this to me when I’m all zonked out and not allowed to do anything to you because I’ve got a hole through my stomach.”

“It’s not all the way through, is it?”

“Did I give you permission to stop kissing me?”

Enjolras laughs, but dutifully returns to doing just that. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, very, very, very, very happy. I don’t think you can imagine how happy I am right now.”

“I meant your injury.”

“Ah, that. It hurts. Because it’s a gunshot wound, you know. You should play nurse for a little while. Poor me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Grantaire lets his head fall back, so that he can look up at Enjolras: the position is kind of awkward, but he can see clear eyes and golden curls, and lips curved in a smile.

“Ever wanted to kiss an idiot?” he asks.

“Just one.”

“Eewww, that was really sappy.”

Enjolras laughs. “You’re too much. You started with the bad pick-up lines. Does that really usually work for you?”

“Have you heard Courfeyrac recently? He’s the King of bad pick-up lines that somehow works anyway.”

Enjolras fingers reach up to brush against Grantaire’s cheekbone. “I really don’t want to talk about Courf right now.”

“We could discuss French politics instead?”

Enjolras huffs. “You’re killing the moment.”

“I thought that would get you in the mood?”

He laughs. “Not the kind of mood I think you’re looking for.”

“Shame. I’ve run out of witty things to say.”

“Impossible.”

“I’m not that good, really.”

Enjolras eyes are soft as he looks at him, the TV the only illumination in the room. It’s gone dark outside: Grantaire wonders how long they’ve been sitting here.

He comes to the conclusion that he really doesn’t care.

“I think you are,” Enjolras says. Grantaire just stops himself short of making a face: Apollo notices anyway.

“I wish you would believe me,” he mumbles, kissing Grantaire’s forehead.

“I don’t think you’re a liar.” _Only a little blinded in this._

“I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight, to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. I have a lot of work tomorrow, but I’ll see if I can come by in the evening. And then we can take it easy, and you can tell me when I’m allowed to take you on a real date, once you’re completely healed. Is that okay?”

“That’s a really vague plan, for you.”

“You’re not a cause, Grantaire. You’re the… you’re the person I care about so much it actually scares me. You’re not a problem to be solved.”

“… Thank-you,” Grantaire mumbles. “That’s… okay. Yeah. I’m…”

“Glad?”

“I’m not sure what to say… I don’t actually… I never expected this, okay? So I’m not sure how to react.”

“You must be tired,” Enjolras says, shifting a little so that they’re lying more down than sitting up.

“I’m not falling asleep on you.”

Enjolras grins. “You can though. I wouldn’t mind. It’s nice. I know you’re okay, here. With me.”

Grantaire thinks he needs to stop saying romantic shit like that. He falls asleep two minutes later, and is pretty sure he’s never slept this well before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mabeuf is a character from the Brick that doesn’t make it into the Stage-production show or the new movie. He is an old friend of Marius’ father, and the one who tells Marius about him. He later ends up having to sell everything he owns. Not having much else to live for, he joins the Barricade: when the Rebellion’s flag on top of the Barricade falls down after the first shooting, Mabeuf volunteers going up there to raise it again, knowing that he will be gunned down in the process. He is pierced by several bullets, and dies on the Barricade: out of respect for his deed, Enjolras, according to Hugo, bestows the only two kisses he had ever given to Mabeuf, on his hand and on his forehead.  
> Mabeuf has appeared before in this series. Guess when! 
> 
> I know what you’re all thinking. JESUS CHRIST ENJOLRAS, JUST TELL HIM. Trust me, I'm thinking it too, but it won't happen just yet.
> 
> ETA: on my tumblr (link in my profile), under the tag 'hotel california' I post thoughts while I'm writing and sometimes dates for when the next part will be up, when I know. There might soon be sneak peeks up there as well, if people are interested :) Next part will be up in a week or so!


	2. Chapter 2

Lovely fan-art made by [Occamsphaser](http://occamsphaser.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr. Original posts [here](http://occamsphaser.tumblr.com/post/50203530566/for-brightasasunflowers-hotel-california-series) and [here](http://occamsphaser.tumblr.com/post/50399671136/brightasasunflower-giving-me-free-license-with)

 

[ ](http://occamsphaser.tumblr.com/image/50203530566)

 

  
_What is it that can make happy men sad and sad men happy_ (this too shall pass)

 

[ ](http://occamsphaser.tumblr.com/image/50399671136)

 

And because we talked about how I had been considering giving Grantaire more tattoos, and then this lovely thing happened. Including the wonderful griffin that is already there in the story.


End file.
